Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTX81MH1QMJ10WX25PEVNP5

The rain hammered against the windows of The Raven's Nest, creating rivers that distorted the green neon glow from the sign outside. Aurora Carter pushed through the heavy door, water dripping from her delivery jacket onto the worn hardwood floor. The familiar smell of whiskey and old leather wrapped around her like a blanket. "Kitchen delivery," she announced to the mostly empty bar, hefting the insulated bags higher on her shoulder. The dinner rush at the Golden Empress had been brutal, and this was her last stop before she could retreat upstairs to her flat. Silas emerged from behind the bar, polishing a glass with practiced movements despite the slight catch in his left leg as he walked. "Through the back, Rory. You know the way." She nodded, weaving between the mismatched tables and chairs. The walls seemed to watch her pass, their collection of faded maps and photographs documenting adventures she could only imagine. As she rounded the corner toward the kitchen, a voice stopped her cold. "Aurora?" The bags nearly slipped from her grip. She turned, heart pounding against her ribs. A man sat alone in the corner booth, a half-empty pint of lager catching the amber light from the overhead lamp. His face was thinner than she remembered, cheekbones sharp where they'd once been soft, and his sandy hair was cut short in a way that made him look older than his twenty-six years. "Evan." The name tasted bitter on her tongue. He stood, and she noticed how his expensive suit hung loose on his frame. "Christ, it is you. I thought I was seeing things." His accent had changed—the rough Cardiff edges smoothed into something more refined, more London. "What are you doing here?" "Working." She adjusted the bags on her shoulder, using the weight as an anchor. "I should—" "Please." He gestured to the seat across from him. "Just for a minute? It's been, what, two years?" "Twenty-six months." The words escaped before she could stop them. His laugh was hollow. "You always did have a head for numbers." Against her better judgment, Aurora set the bags down and slid into the booth. The vinyl squeaked under her weight, and she caught her reflection in the dark window—delivery jacket, hair plastered to her head from the rain, shadows under her eyes. Nothing like the law student he'd known. "You look good," Evan said, though his eyes said otherwise. "Different." "You too." She kept her hands flat on the table, noticing how he noticed the small crescent scar on her left wrist. The one from the glass he'd thrown that night, though she'd told everyone it was from climbing a fence as a child. "I heard you left university." He traced the rim of his glass with one finger. "Your mum ran into mine at Tesco last Christmas. Said you'd moved to London." "News travels." "She also said you were working in a restaurant?" Aurora felt heat rise in her cheeks. "It pays the bills." "But you were top of the class. Professor Williams said you had the best legal mind he'd seen in years." "Professor Williams said a lot of things." She glanced toward the kitchen, calculating how long before Silas would wonder where she'd gone. "Look, I really need to—" "I went to therapy." The words tumbled out of him in a rush. "After you left. I know it doesn't... I know it's too late, but I wanted you to know. I'm different now." She studied his face, searching for traces of the boy who'd charmed her in their first-year tort law seminar. The one who'd brought her coffee during late-night study sessions and made her laugh until her sides ached. Before the drinking got worse. Before the accusations and apologies became a endless cycle. "Good for you," she said, meaning it despite herself. "I got into Clifford Chance. Corporate law, like we always talked about." He pulled out his phone, angling it so she could see his LinkedIn profile photo—professional headshot, confident smile, the London skyline behind him. "Remember how we used to plan it all out? The flat in Canary Wharf, the whole thing?" "I remember." "And you? Any plans to go back? Finish your degree?" Aurora's fingers found the scar again, a habit she'd developed without realizing. "No." "But you only had a year left. Surely—" "Things change." She thought of the restraining order paperwork she'd never filed, the bruises she'd hidden under long sleeves, the night Eva had driven down from London at two in the morning to pack her things while Evan was passed out on the couch. "People change." "I know I did." He leaned forward, and she caught a whiff of his cologne—different from the one he used to wear. More expensive. "Aurora, I need to say—" "No." The word came out sharper than she intended. "You don't need to say anything." "But I do. The way I treated you, the things I said—" "Stop." "—when I was drinking, it was unforgivable. I know that now. Dr. Morrison helped me see—" "I said stop." Aurora's voice cut through the bar's ambient noise. From the corner of her eye, she saw Silas look up from the glass he was polishing. "You want absolution? Fine. I forgive you. Happy?" "That's not... I'm not asking for forgiveness. I just wanted to explain—" "Explain what? How sorry you are? How you've changed? How therapy gave you insight into your behavior?" She felt the familiar rage building, the one she'd learned to compress into a tight ball in her chest. "You think because you wear a better suit and work at a magic circle firm that it erases everything?" "Of course not—" "Do you know why I really left?" Aurora's hands clenched into fists under the table. "Not because of the bruises or the screaming or the mind games. I left because I looked at my future and saw my mother. Twenty years of making excuses, of believing promises, of thinking love meant accepting pain as currency." Evan's face drained of color. "Aurora, I never meant—" "You never meant a lot of things." She stood, grabbing the delivery bags. "But intent doesn't erase impact, does it? First thing they teach you in tort law." "Please, just let me—" "Let you what? Tell me about your therapy breakthrough? Show me your business cards? Prove you're one of the good ones now?" Aurora shook her head. "You know what the difference is between us? You got to reinvent yourself with a clear conscience and a clean record. I'm the one still paying for believing in you." She turned to leave, then stopped. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you got help. Really. Just don't mistake that for wanting anything to do with your redemption story." Evan slumped back in the booth. "I think about it every day. What I did to you." "No," Aurora said quietly, "you think about what it did to you. There's a difference." She walked away, her footsteps steady despite the trembling in her legs. Behind the bar, Silas gave her a small nod—the kind of acknowledgment that said he'd been ready to intervene if needed. She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Evan alone with his expensive suit and his reformed conscience. The rain had stopped by the time she finished the delivery, but the streets still gleamed with reflected light. Aurora stood in the doorway of The Raven's Nest, breathing in the cool air. Through the window, she could see Evan still sat in the booth, staring at his empty glass. Twenty-six months. She'd rebuilt herself from scratch in that time, found strength in the silence he'd once filled with chaos. Let him have his Canary Wharf flat and his corporate success. She had something better—the freedom to choose who she wanted to be, unmarked by his expectations or apologies. The green neon sign flickered above her as she climbed the stairs to her flat, casting strange shadows on the wall. Behind her, she heard the bar door open and close, followed by expensive shoes on wet pavement, walking away.